An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 54
From weeping, the pupil of my eye is seated in blood;
behold, in seeking you, what the state of men has become.
Remembering your ruby and your wine-flushed, drunken eye,
the ruby wine I drink from the cup of grief is blood.
From the east that is your street's head, the sun of your countenance —
should it but rise, my ascendant is fortunate.
The tale of the sweet lip is the very speech of Farhad;
the curl of Layla's tress is the station of Majnun.
Seek out my heart — for your stature charms like the cypress;
speak but a word — for your speech is subtle and well-measured.
From the round of the wine bring the soul some ease, cupbearer,
for my mind's affliction is from the tyranny of the wheeling sphere.
Since the dear river went streaming forth from my eye,
the fold of my skirt has become like the river Oxus.
How shall my grieving inmost heart be made glad
by choice, when it lies beyond the reach of choice?
In self-oblivion Hafez goes seeking the Friend,
like a pauper who seeks out the treasure of Korah.